Deeds Before Words
by Channel D
Summary: Gibbs and the team face outlaws trying to shanghai men...but this is slightly different, for the year is 1888 and the setting is San Francisco. Written for the NFA Wild, Wild West challenge. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Deeds Before Words**

**by channelD**

_written for_: The NFA _Wild, Wild West_ challenge  
_rating_: K plus  
_genre_: drama/action/western  
_pairing_: mild McAbby

_Author's notes_: (1) Gibbs et al work for the Office of Naval Intelligence, which was the predecessor of the NIS (later NCIS). The ONI was established in 1882.

(2) This is a minor crossover with the TV show _Bonanza,_ just for fun. It is established in _Bonanza_ canon that Ben Cartwright had been a New England-based sea captain who had moved West when his oldest son, Adam, was a young boy.

* * *

_disclaimer_: I own nothing of NCIS.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_San Francisco, 1888_

From inside a saloon, a piano playing "Camptown Races" sounded. The man pushed open the saloon's batwing swinging doors and grinned on seeing a familiar face close by. "Ben Cartwright! You old son-of-a-sea-cook! I'd heard you were in town!"

The silver-haired man got up from his table and shook his friend's hand warmly. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs! It's been too long, Sergeant."

"Indeed it has, Captain." They both sat down at Cartwright's table, and Gibbs signaled to the barkeeper for his usual. "What brings you to San Francisco?"

Cartwright's eyes narrowed. "Too many fraudulent shippers between here and Virginia City, so I thought I'd come here and pick up my own goods. Ordered some teak from the Orient—I'll have a nice cabinet built from it for my study."

"You always did have an eye for the fine things, Ben. How is life in Nevada, and that big ranch and those three sons of yours?"

"Fine, on all accounts. You should come to Nevada. Plenty of good land still available."

Gibbs shook his head. "I'd miss the ocean. It's the Marine in me. I don't want to be on a boat full-time any more, but—" He broke off and waved a greeting to someone he saw. Shortly two people appeared at the table: a lovely young dark haired woman in a stylish blue-green gown, and a rather baby-faced young man, dressed like Gibbs and Cartwright in comfortable Western attire, but, like Gibbs, with a small badge on his vest.

Both Gibbs and Cartwright had stood up. "Miss Ziva," said Gibbs, "May I present an old friend, Captain Benjamin Cartwright, of Virginia City, Nevada. Ben, this is Miss Ziva David, from the Near East."

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain," Ziva said in a soft, accented voice.

"The pleasure is mine, my dear," he said with a slight bow.

"And this is my other team member, Timothy McGee. McGee, Ben Cartwright."

The two men shook hands. "You are…both on Jethro's ONI team?" Cartwright asked in wonder.

"Indeed they are, and I'm proud to have them," Gibbs smiled, having expected the reaction. "McGee has enough education under his belt to be a college professor, and he likes puzzling out things. And he can ride, rope, and shoot better than most. About the only thing he can't do is tolerate a ship ride." He chuckled at McGee's grimace.

"Hard to believe, Jethro, since you've been around ships most of your adult life," Cartwright remarked, and said to Gibbs' team, "That was where we met, about 30 years ago. Off Cape Ann, Massachusetts. My ship was taking on water, and Jethro's Marine unit was part of the rescue. I owe my life to your boss."

"Aw, shucks," Gibbs said, embarrassed. "All part of the job."

"It was more than that, but I'll let Jethro be modest if he wants," Cartwright said amiably. "But that's a hero for you—he thinks he's not doing anything special; just his job."

Gibbs cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Miss Ziva is much more dangerous than she looks—bad news for our enemies! She is a champion in armed and unarmed combat, is a superb rider, and speaks a number of languages, including Russian, Chinese and Spanish, which are important here."

Cartwright nodded, impressed.

"So, what brings you two here?" Gibbs asked his staff.

"Miss Abigail is going to sing, boss!" McGee said eagerly. "She's substitution for that…Joanie Linder woman whose stagecoach is stuck in Sacramento today."

"By all means, then," said Gibbs. "Miss Abigail singing is always a treat—particularly when she sticks to the common songs and not that wild stuff," he grinned.

The lady who went onto the dais was a fair-skinned, raven-haired beauty, dressed in a black Gibson girl skirt with a white blouse shot with red here and there. She smiled at the saloon crowd, many of whom knew her and were glad to see her again, in her occasional appearance as a songbird. She leaned on her folded parasol and belted out an old standard, "Sweet Betsy From Pike."

Cartwright noticed McGee following the music raptly. "Kind of sweet on the girl, is he?" he whispered to Gibbs.

"Very much so," Gibbs whispered back. "He can't get her to settle down and marry, though. Miss Abigail's not just a singer, by the way—she runs the local apothecary. I've turned to her for help in chemical analysis several times in cases."

"Well, good. I'm impressed with women who aren't afraid to do tasks traditionally thought to be men's jobs."

The singer went on to "Greensleeves" and then "You've Been That Friend to Me" before taking a break. She came over to their table, and McGee hurriedly pulled up another chair; holding it out for her. "Why, thank you, Tim," she murmured, and smiled while Gibbs introduced her to Cartwright.

"Sergeant! Sergeant!" A sheriff's deputy ran in. "Begging your pardon, Sergeant Gibbs, but the sheriff says there's a fight going on at the waterfront. Couple' a sailors and talk of a shanghaiing!"

"Let's go," said Gibbs. "Ben, let's get together again before you go home." He, McGee and Miss Ziva rose quickly, but not without McGee's light touch on Miss Abigail's hand.

"Stay safe," she whispered to McGee, or perhaps to all of them, as they left.

* * *

With Miss Ziva driving the wagon, they made it to the docks in no time. Miss Ziva, despite her dainty appearance, was a fearsome driver. There they found a brawl well underway, involving more than a dozen men.

Gibbs whistled shrilly. "Federal agents! Break it up!"

The ones in sailor uniforms stopped the quickest; they knew the reputation of the ONI, and of Gibbs. The plain clothes men were less intimidated, and the Chinese men least of all. Miss Ziva got into the thick of the fray and bellowed at them in their own language, and the fighting subsided.

"Who started this?" Gibbs demanded.

Several fingers pointed to a man in dark brown leather. "Aw, now that's not true, uh, Commander," he said, taking a wild guess at Gibbs' rank. "These guys were trying to shanghai me and this little guy, here. We were just defending ourselves!"

Other men, including sailors, argued, and pointed fingers at the first man. "They're in on the shanghaiing!" the man insisted. "The sailors are."

_His word against theirs…_ Much as he sometimes didn't like to, Gibbs felt he'd have to go with the sailors. "All right. You—" he indicated the little man "—take off." The short fellow ran. "You—" the sailors "—you're from the _Nineveh_? Get back to your ship. And you—" he addressed the Chinese "—when does your ship leave?" He waited while Miss Ziva translated. "In three hours? You'd better go. _Now_. Or I'll charge you with disturbing the peace."

"Now you—" he added to the man in brown leather, "I'm taking you in for questioning."

"That's your gut reaction, boss?" McGee said to him quietly.

"Yep," was all Gibbs would say. "Got a name, fellow?"

The man picked up his fairly new Stetson hat from where it had fallen in the fight, and though his green eyes met Gibbs' firmly, there was still a bit of hesitation as he said, "DiNozzo. Anthony DiNozzo."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

The Office of Naval Intelligence had office space on the second floor of a building not far from the waterfront. There Gibbs and the man DiNozzo sat in a small conference room that doubled as an interrogation place. On the other side of the closed door, McGee and Miss Ziva strained to hear, each with an ear to a glass held to the door.

"'DiNozzo'…that name's Italian; do you think?" McGee murmured.

"I would think so," Miss Ziva whispered back, frowning. "Does it matter?"

McGee didn't answer.

* * *

"Why were you at the waterfront? Looking for trouble?" Gibbs asked the stranger.

"No, uh, sir," replied DiNozzo.

Gibbs studied him, and let the man sweat for a few minutes. He noticed that the sweat didn't appear to be from guilt, but from some other, innate, fear.

"You're new to the West," Gibbs observed. "Your clothes are hardly broken in."

"That a crime?" DiNozzo asked, his eyes shifting to the side.

"Not as far as I know. Where are you from?"

"Back East."

"More specifically?"

"Baltimore."

"I can check on that, you know."

"I'm not hiding anything. I came West, looking for work. Same as a lot of folks."

"You here to pan gold?"

"Naw; I'm not so much a wilderness man. I was hoping…for maybe a job in a shop or something. If not, as a last resort, I suppose I could go to sea, but…"

"There aren't any jobs in Baltimore?"

"Not for…" DiNozzo hung his head and didn't finish.

Gibbs went on. "Who started the brawl?"

"Kinda hard to say, I guess."

"Was it you?" Gibbs' voice turned hard.

"Those guys were picking on that little fellow! Even in Baltimore we've heard of shanghaiing men. Isn't that what was happening, uh, Captain?"

"'Sergeant'," Gibbs corrected absently.

"They have sergeants aboard ships now? Is that some Western thing?" DiNozzo said in wonder.

"Marine sergeant. And yes, that looked like a shanghaiing. We've had increasing trouble with that." He eyed the stranger. "Where are you staying, DiNozzo?"

"Mrs. Barker's rooming house. I'm doing maintenance and some cleaning for her until I get a job."

"I know her. All right; don't leave town. I may want to ask you more questions."

Seeing he was free to go, DiNozzo rose quickly.

* * *

When Gibbs opened the door, McGee and Miss Ziva were at their desks, apparently working hard and certainly looking innocent. They didn't even look up when DiNozzo flew by and rattled down the stairs.

Gibbs' look was unreadable. "Miss Ziva, go to the telegraph office and send a wire to the Baltimore police department. Ask them if they have anything on an Anthony DiNozzo."

"Yes, Gibbs." Gathering her skirts as she rose, Miss Ziva strode out as swiftly as DiNozzo had.

"What'cha think of him, boss?" McGee asked.

"Hard to say, McGee. There are so many folks coming through here now. All types; law-abiding and not. All from somewhere else. All leaving something behind." He noted McGee's blush. "I wasn't referring to you, McGee."

McGee blushed again. "I know, boss. It's just hard sometimes…"

"Don't. You're on my team, and I'm glad to have you. I don't care what ignorant fools think."

"Thank you, boss."

* * *

Miss Ziva returned, waving a copy of the afternoon newspaper. "There is a mention of the waterfront brawl, Gibbs."

He accepted the paper from her; the clipping would be added to his files. "Any eyewitness reports?"

"Sadly, no." She paused. "Why do you say that in English?" she asked McGee. "A word cannot be sad."

McGee put his hands to his head. "The word 'no' isn't sad, Miss Ziva," he said, stifling a sigh. "It's just an expression. Doesn't Hebrew have expressions? Combinations of words that can't be defined by breaking them up?"

"It does, yes. I think all languages do. I merely find English…more puzzling than most."

Gibbs tuned them out, as usual. "My gut says these shanghai attempts aren't random. There must be a gang, and a mastermind behind this."

"Does this really involve us, though, boss?" asked McGee. "Is there a connection with the Navy or the Marines?"

"I don't have that answer, McGee. I'm sending you down to the waterfront, undercover, to see if you can find out if any sailors or Marines are involved. _Be careful!_ Don't get yourself shanghaied! Get information without getting too close."

"He should not go alone, Gibbs," Miss Ziva said, looking concerned. "If he were overpowered, we would never know."

"Don't volunteer, Miss Ziva. This is no assignment for a lady," Gibbs cautioned.

"Oh, I was not planning on going there as a _lady_," she said demurely.

* * *

At sunset, McGee and Miss Ziva went down to the docks. Both were dressed in cheaper clothing; well-worn castoffs that fit a bit too loosely. They exuded poverty. The looseness of the clothing concealed the guns and knives they carried.

Miss Ziva was a slender woman; she would make a reedy man under the best of circumstances. But being moderately tall for a woman, she could pass as a man of average height. A little make-up gave the illusion of a shaven face. She was practiced in mimicking a man's walk—though she didn't say when or how she had learned this.

Although he knew her defensive capabilities probably outweighed his own, McGee felt protective of her in circumstances like this. It was in his upbringing. A man was supposed to protect the fairer sex. But he knew better now than to say anything like that to her. He had made that mistake only once. He counted himself lucky that she had let him live.

Ships were in. Many men labored to load and unload them. But a few, more than would be needed to act as overseers, lingered, watching, and…waiting? "Looking for conscripts," McGee murmured to Ziva.

"Criminals? They might make good labor, I suppose. If you can trust them."

"Not 'convicts'. 'Conscripts'. A conscript is someone forced into service."

"As one being shanghaied."

"Exactly."

"I can understand the syllable 'con'. The person would be _against_ the action. But where does the 'script' come in? Do they have to perform a play?"

"Miss Ziva," McGee groaned. "Save your questions for—"

"Hey! You two!" One of the overseers was pointing at them, and heading their way. Both agents mentally kicked themselves for having let their attention wander. They hadn't meant to be noticed.

"We on private property, fella? Sorry," said McGee, inching back. Miss Ziva did likewise, without speaking. She might pass like a man in looks, but her voice was not low enough to fool hardly anyone. In assignments like this one, she would try to get by with just grunts.

"That's okay. The city owns the dockyards. Only the docks themselves is privately owned. You wouldn't be looking for work, would ya?"

"Depends," McGee said carefully, trying to sound mostly disinterested. "What work you got?"

"Good-paying work. The best."

"Temporary?" McGee asked. He turned his head to see Miss Ziva's reaction, and that was when things went black for him.

Miss Ziva lost no time when her partner was dropped like a stone by the overseer's lead pipe. Grabbing the overseer's arm, she hurled him over her shoulder to have him land on sacks of coffee beans. Around her, men cried out, snarled, and cheered. Two more moved in to grab her, but she instantly subdued them with wrist chops and kicks. Yet two more came, and both she tossed into the water.

McGee stirred, shaking his head, and unsteadily got to his feet. One would-be attacker simply ran headlong into McGee's moving fist, and was knocked out, cold. "Huh!" McGee said, proud of the chain of events. He then picked up and threw two more men into the water.

By this time most of the remaining men had fled. "Let's go," a winded McGee said to Miss Ziva.

"I am just starting to have fun," she whispered. "I have not had a chance to use any of my knives yet."

"Yeah, well, there's not a soul left to use 'em on. We should report back to Gibbs."

"Look!" she said, quietly. "Over at the steps. Is that not…?"

McGee squinted and frowned. "Yeah. That DiNozzo guy. What's he up to?"

DiNozzo melted into the dusk and was gone before they could move.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_

* * *

_

Later…

"Well, Timothy," said Doc Mallard, the old Scottish sawbones as he unwrapped McGee's bloody bandana from his head in the ONI office, "what mischief have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"I'm alright, Doc," McGee said with a slight grin. "You should see the guys Miss Ziva took on!"

She smiled, pleased, and then grew sober. "You fell off your horse when we got here, McGee. That is not normal. Let the doctor see to your head wound."

"Yes; getting me out of my nightly glass of whisky and a good card game at the saloon means you had best cooperate, Timothy," Mallard scolded. "Sometimes I think working on the dead might be easier than tending the living. The dead don't fidget, nor talk back."

"That so-called _forensic medicine_?" Gibbs spoke up. "There any future in that, Doc?"

"A future, perhaps; but no real money now. I must content myself amongst the living and breathing, I am afraid." The doctor sighed; thoughts of his waiting glass of whisky in his mind. "I'll have to take a stitch or two after I clean that out, Timothy. With what did they hit you?"

"A lead pipe."

"Well, that's not too bad, then. I'll just give your wound a thorough cleaning, and—"

"Doc," McGee interrupted, "do you believe that a fella can get tetanus from rust? Folks say that that's so."

The doctor hemmed. "Well, Timothy, we just don't know for sure. I personally have some doubts but…you're _not_ going to get tetanus. Gibbs won't allow it, for one thing."

"Darn straight. You got that, McGee? No tetanus."

"Okay, boss," McGee grinned.

Doc Mallard looked in his bag and grunted. "I am low on treated surgical gauze. Miss Ziva, would you run to Miss Abigail's apothecary, and—"

The young woman was already out the door.

* * *

While the doctor put in a few stitches, Gibbs handed McGee the telegram reply from Baltimore.

ONLY ANTHONY DINOZZO KNOWN TO US IS ANTHONY OR ANTONIO DINOZZO SON OF VITALE DINOZZO OF BOWKER STREET FORMERLY OF ITALY STOP THIS IS FROM CITY CENSUS STOP NO CRIMINAL RECORD STOP

"No record? What is he running away from, then?" McGee murmured.

"Or does he just cover his trail well?" Gibbs wondered.

"I think you investigators are too suspicious, perhaps," Mallard offered. "Your man may just be seeking opportunity, like most of the other people here."

"DiNozzo was seen at the waterfront twice, Doc," Gibbs growled. "I don't believe in coincidences."

A lanky young man with spectacles clambored up the stairs. "Doc! Sheriff says there's been a shooting at the butcher's. You're needed."

Mallard sighed. "There goes my whisky. All right, Jimmy. You have the wagon?"

"Yes, Doctor Mallard."

"Try not to get us lost this time. Jethro, when Miss Ziva returns, you know how to put on a gauze bandage. Timothy—nothing strenuous for the next few days, and see me if you develop symptoms."

"Like if my jaw can't move?" McGee pretended to have difficulty talking.

The doctor gave him a _that's-not-funny_ look. "Yes, like that." He pretended not to see the mild head-slap Gibbs gave his man.

* * *

There was little for the ONI team to do for the next couple of days. A report that a shanghaiing might have occurred came in, but turned out to be a dead end. No persons had been reported missing, and the only ship to have left the harbor was a Navy ship.

On Sunday, McGee escorted Miss Abigail to church, as he always did, and stayed on for the box social as he always did (when she was there). He was happy to bid high to secure the lunch box she'd packed, full of cold chicken, a sweet fruit salad, and other homemade delights. The cost didn't matter to him; his pay for the ONI was ample, and his lifestyle simple.

Gibbs' shadow loomed over them as they sat on a blanket on the spreading church lawn. That was odd; he wasn't much one for hanging around after church and socializing.

"A new development in the case," he said, without preamble. "Stop by my place at 6 tonight. Miss Abigail, you're more than welcome to come, too. I value your opinion. I'll cook dinner. And I promise we won't talk shop the whole time."

"Oh, but I love it when you talk shop, Gibbs!" Miss Abigail enthused. "I wish there was a job in the ONI for me."

"We'll be there," McGee said, his hand lightly resting on Miss Abigail's. "Can you give us a clue as to what this is about, boss?"

"You'll find out soon enough." Gibbs put his Stetson back on, looking a little grim.

* * *

Miss Ziva was the first to arrive at Gibbs' house on the edge of the neighborhood. It was a neatly-maintained building, and in the back yard was a shelter under which a partially-constructed boat was housed. McGee and Miss Abigail, and then Doc Mallard, arrived just as she was about to knock.

Gibbs opened the door and nodded to all of them. "Come in; come in. Doc, help yourself to the whisky, to make up for the other night."

"You needn't ask me twice, dear fellow," said the doctor, heading for the decanters on the living room side board.

_"You!"_ McGee exclaimed, and both Miss Abigail and Miss Ziva put a gently restraining arm on his.

"'McGee', is it?" DiNozzo asked, rising from a chair, with a guarded look.

* * *

Dinner was ready, and Gibbs bade them all sit around the table. "DiNozzo came to me with information," Gibbs said, handing out the platter of steaks. "Trouble is, he may have been seen, so he's going to be hiding out here for a spell."

"You mean you found someone to help you with that boat of yours, Gibbs," Miss Abigail teased.

DiNozzo smiled briefly, and then hung his head. "I don't have woodworking skills, much. Don't really have many skills at all."

"That's the nice part about the West," Mallard said breezily. "There's lots of work for anyone willing to learn, and work hard. For many people it can be a new beginning."

"People are less likely to judge you here, I have found," said Miss Ziva. "There is not the class society that you find in the East. Here, I wear dresses, mostly. But it would not shock people too much if I chose to wear breeches."

McGee cleared his throat. "Gibbs says you've got information on our shanghai cases?"

DiNozzo met his stern gaze, and nodded. "I think so. I've spent the last few days in a temporary job, sweeping the docks, and have kept my ears open. There's a fellow who keeps coming in, watching the schedules, watching the ships, looking at the people who pass by. He doesn't handle them himself, but I've seen him pointing to people as he talks to other men."

"Do you know his name?" asked Miss Ziva.

"Not entirely. I've heard people call him 'Kort', though."

* * *

"Well, that adds a wrinkle to things," McGee sighed. "Trent Kort, up to his old tricks. Last I knew he was in a jail in Washington."

"It was rumored that he'd joined up with the feds," said Gibbs. "He's too skilled not to be put to work somewhere. And too slimy not to have to be watched, wherever he is."

"Could he be working both sides of the offense?" asked Miss Ziva.

"'Fence', Miss Ziva," McGee groaned. Not 'offense'."

"I think Ziva's right," Miss Abigail said, patting her friend's hand, and grinning. "Trent Kort gives plenty of offense."

"Thank you, Abby," Ziva smiled.

"I don't pretend to know the intricacies of the law the way you people do," said Mallard, scooping up more mashed potatoes. "Will the government really hire someone so untrustworthy?"

"They have in the past," said Gibbs grimly. "Worse; it would be a courtesy to keep me informed of any new postings to San Francisco. But some agencies guard their personnel lists, and don't do that."

"Can we bring him in for questioning, boss?" asked McGee.

"Not yet. I don't want to cause a rift. I like my job." Gibbs looked at his team. "McGee, you and I will go to the waterfront tomorrow and take a look for ourselves. This time, at dawn. That's when you said you saw him, right, DiNozzo?"

"Yes, sergeant. Only at dawn."

"Good. Miss Abigail, if we bring you back some clothing, or other things from the waterfront, would you be able to tell us about them?"

"Test for sweat, salt water, blood and so on? I'll give it my best, Gibbs."

"Atta girl. Miss Ziva, the telegraph office is closed for the night, but in the morning I'd like you to telegraph the agencies in Washington about Trent Kort. You know what to ask."

"Yes, Gibbs."

"Doc, you've met Kort, haven't you?"

Mallard shuddered. "I have had the displeasure; yes. It was your case of the sailor whose arm had been chopped off after his death. It reminded me of the time that I was on Cape Horn. There I and a band of sailors on shore leave met a one-armed fortune teller who—"

"Another time, perhaps, Doc," said Gibbs mildly. "Give me your profile idea of Kort. What would bring a man like that so far from the civilization of the East Coast?"

"It's unlikely to be power. There's not enough out here yet to be recognized. It's also not likely to be for San Francisco's remarkable weather—" Indeed, a typically chilly fog had rolled in. "Perhaps he's in love? No, I joke. There's only one real reason, for someone with his skills who could get almost anything he wanted in the East or in Europe.

"No, it must be that base greed: Money. Trace the money, Jethro, and you will find why Kort is here."

* * *

At dawn, dressed as poor stevedores, Gibbs and McGee walked to the waterfront. "Keep your cap down over your face," Gibbs directed McGee in a whisper. "And don't get close to Kort. If he recognizes us, it's all over."

"Well, he might come out and tell us what he's doing," said McGee. "He had to take the loyalty oath when he entered government employment, after all."

Gibbs didn't say anything. His young associate could be too trusting of his fellow man, sometimes. "There he is," he remarked. "Over by that Chilean ship."

McGee nodded. "You know, boss; every time there's been a report of shanghaiing in the last few months, there's been an American Navy ship in port. This is the first time one's been here in four or five days."

Gibbs nodded. "I think you're right. The rot extends into the Navy itself. When we get back, we'll go over the officer and crew lists, and look for connections."

"What the—?" McGee turned as a sixth sense warned him, and brought up a hand to ward off an attacker. A kick disabled the man. But he turned only to see an unconscious Gibbs being dragged away before a blow to his head knocked his lights out, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

At 11 o'clock, a fierce pounding came at Gibbs' door. DiNozzo peeked through the curtains and saw Miss Ziva doing the pounding. He quickly let her in.

She swept inside, gathering her gray skirts and clearly upset. "Gibbs and McGee should have been back at the office two hours ago," she said. "Have you heard from them?"

"No, ma'am," he said. "Do you think they could be in trouble?"

"No, I am _certain_ that they are in trouble," she said with venom. "I must go to their aid, but I need a second person. Doctor Mallard is too old. His assistant is…unpredictable. Can I count on your help?"

DiNozzo gulped. "I don't have many skills, but I _am_ good with my fists. I owe the Sergeant for taking me in. Let's go."

* * *

What Gibbs and McGee knew about Miss Ziva that many people did not suspect was that her dresses did not encumber her in a fight. She favored the fuller "walking" skirt style over Miss Abigail's more business-like Gibson girl straight skirt because it allowed her more movement. She could run fast in her boots, kick with them, and carefully-sewn panels in her dresses concealed her gun and knives.

"You can fight dressed like that?" DiNozzo asked as she hurriedly drove the wagon to the docks.

"Of course. I enjoy being a lady, but I was brought up to be a fighter; an assassin."

"An—" DiNozzo choked. She was smiling, though, so he thought maybe she was joking. But he feared that she wasn't.

* * *

"Well, this is awkward," said Trent Kort, standing before the two men who were now conscious again. Gibbs and McGee were shackled inside the dockmaster's hut.

"Good to see you, too, Kort," Gibbs said mildly.

"I have a little operation going on here, Sergeant Gibbs," Kort said coldly. "I don't appreciate your interference."

"I don't appreciate being shackled. I didn't move to San Francisco to be shanghaied."

"A regrettable error. Still, I can't just let you go."

"Why not? If you're not breaking any laws, why keep us here?"

The gaunt man pursed his lips. "I have orders from people much higher than you, Gibbs. My mission here is classified."

Gibbs laughed. "How many times have I heard you use that line? And to think, I actually believed it the first time or two." His eyes grew flinty. "Forcing innocent men into conscription is against the law, Kort. I'd heard rumors that the Navy wasn't meeting its recruitment goals in this area, but I didn't believe them…or believe what they might lead to."

"The means really do justify the ends, most of the time, Gibbs. Patriotic Americans should be willing to serve their country."

"Not as slaves," Gibbs said, evenly. "We had a war not too long ago over that."

"You are incapable of understanding, I see. This conversation is at an end." Kort snapped his fingers, and a couple lackeys unfastened the chains of the shackles and led the bound ONI agents onto the waiting US Navy ship.

* * *

Miss Ziva parked the wagon at the perimeter of the waterfront. "This is a large area," she sighed. "If they are being held here, they may be difficult to find."

"Maybe I can be of use," said DiNozzo, jumping off the wagon. He strode up to two laborers, and spoke rapidly to them in Italian. The men nodded and gestured as they talked.

DiNozzo then returned to Miss Ziva. "They said they saw the two, the _capelli grigi_, or grey-haired man, and the _giovane_, the young man, being knocked out and taken into the dockmaster's hut."

Miss Ziva's eyes grew large and then angry. "And they did not go to the police when they saw this?"

DiNozzo shrugged, and his eyes dragged the ground. "We're Eye-talians, Miss Ziva. Nobody gives a rat's behind about us; 'specially not the police. We stick together, that's all. That's how I've been getting information for the ONI. From fellow Eye-talians. These desperados shanghaied a couple of Eye-talians recently. The Eye-talian community wants it to stop. I said I'd try."

Even though she had long been trained to be objective and analytical, Miss Ziva couldn't help feeling a twinge in her heart. "It is hard for you? Being Italian?"

He looked away, as if embarrassed for having said too much. "I don't have it worse than most folks, I guess."

She changed the subject. "It is good of you to want to help the ONI."

Again an uncomfortable look. "Ahhhhh," was all he said, and that was dismissive.

"Where is the dockmasters' hunch?" she asked.

DiNozzo studied her face for a moment. "I think you mean 'hut', ma'am," he said kindly.

"'Hut.' Yes, that is correct. Thank you."

"It's the building with the old anchor resting beside the wall. Over there."

"Fine. Let us go find what we can. Are you armed?"

"Uh…no, ma'am."

"Never mind. Be ready with your fists."

The hut, however, was empty. "Where could they be?" asked DiNozzo, scratching his head.

Miss Ziva found her balance and once again looked at him through shrewd eyes. _Is he really telling me all he knows? Or is he involved in this?_

"Is there a way of finding out which ships are due to leave port next?" DiNozzo wondered.

"Yes, there surely are logs…charts…records of that sort of thing. They should be right in this hun…hut. Let us start looking."

"Is that legal, Miss Ziva?"

"We did not break in. The door was not locked. If we happen to see something, well…"

DiNozzo nodded. "I'll look on this side of the room."

After a while, DiNozzo exclaimed, "Found it! The only ship due to leave in the next few days leaves this afternoon at 1:30." He studied the paper he held again. "It's the US Navy ship; the _John Adams._"

* * *

Doc Mallard sighed. "I would hate indeed to think that the Navy is caught up in something so reprehensible." He looked glum as he sat with Miss Ziva and DiNozzo in the ONI office. "This will kill Gibbs; he believes so strongly in the Navy and the Marines."

"Don't think it's the whole Navy that's responsible, Doc," DiNozzo countered mildly. "It only takes a few bad apples, and you can find those anywhere."

"True enough, my boy. Now, Miss Ziva: How might I be of assistance?"

"We are fairly certain that Gibbs and McGee are on board the Navy ship," Miss Ziva said. "To rescue them, we will need to get on board, and create a diversion. Can you make an excuse to get on board as well? And perhaps cover us?"

"Hmmm…how about this: You are the wife of a sailor onboard; DiNozzo is his brother. He has fallen ill and I am accompanying you to see him. I shall place the entire ship under quarantine, immediately."

"Can you do that?" asked DiNozzo, eyes wide.

"My dear fellow, a good doctor is nothing if not a little sneaky at times."

* * *

Miss Ziva grabbed the Doc's arm when DiNozzo was out of the room. "Be careful around DiNozzo," she whispered. "I do not entirely trust him."

* * *

Gibbs and McGee lay like potato sacks in the hot hold of the _John Adams._ Neither spoke; there didn't seem to be anything to say. They were in a bad spot, and the entire strength of the US Navy was against them. The best they could hope for would be to work off their "indebtedness" in a couple of years at sea, and then be set free. If they lived that long.

"I tell you, this ship was inspected just a month ago, and she passed with flying colors!" came a rough voice from the other side of the door. The captain's voice. Gibbs perked up.

"Well, obviously that is not the case, man! You have a very, very ill sailor on board, and it's quite likely that it is a food-borne illness."

_Doc Mallard! What is he doing here?_

"With all respect, Doctor, we have yet to find this ill sailor that you claim is on board. But our stores are in perfect condition. Nothing but the best for my men."

"I would like to see for myself…Do not hesitate too long, Captain; with a word from me the Board of Health will keep your ship in port indefinitely."

"I still have not found my Johnny." _A woman's voice; weeping. Miss Ziva!_ "Perhaps in delirium he crept into the storeroom to…gain comfort."

"We might as well look here. We've looked everywhere else." _DiNozzo!_

Gibbs nudged McGee awake, but put a finger to his lips.

The storeroom door opened, and Gibbs and McGee squinted against the sudden light. "No one in here," said the captain.

"I beg to differ!" said Miss Ziva, rushing in. "Johnny! Uh, Jethro! Let us get you both out of here. I am taking you home where I can nurse you back to health. Help me, Doctor."

DiNozzo had hung back. "No, you all get in there. Well, except you, captain. Now we've got _four_ shanghais."

The ONI team and Ducky could only gape at DiNozzo, and the gun he had trained on them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

"What's this all about?" demanded the startled captain. "Who are these people? And what's this talk about shanghais?"

DiNozzo let the gun he carried droop a little. "You're…not working with Trent Kort to kidnap men off the docks?"

"Trent Kort!" The captain spat. "Is that slimy toad here? I've testified against him before, and had the pleasure of seeing him go to jail. Is this a plan of his to get back at me, through illegal use of my ship?"

"Captain, if I had to place a bet on it, I'd say those answers were 'yes'," Gibbs said mildly. He pulled out his badge. "Gibbs. Federal agent."

"Are you _all_ federal agents?" the captain gaped.

"I'm with the Federal Agents' Geezer Squad," Mallard snorted. "My question, Mr. DiNozzo, is whose side are _you_ really on?"

"I'm…with…Trent Kort, of course…" DiNozzo said, trying to look more certain than he sounded. He then raised and waved the gun again. "If you're not on his side, then I have to take you prisoner, too, Captain. Sorry. Get in there with them."

More quickly than anyone could say it, Miss Ziva was at DiNozzo's side and had a knife to his throat. "I think not," she said. "Now tell me why I should spare your miserable height."

"You mean 'hide', ma'am," he gasped.

" 'Height.' 'Hide.' Do not try to confuse me; I believe I am the one in control here. Now drop that gun."

DiNozzo did so, but it didn't make the expected _clang_ when it hit the deck. McGee dived for it, and his eyes popped when he felt it. "It's a _toy_ gun! Carved wood; painted black!"

"I brought it with me from Baltimore, as a cover, for protection," DiNozzo said sheepishly. "I've never held a real gun."

"You're not really working for Kort, are you?" asked Gibbs.

"Well…no, Sergeant; I'm not. Like I told Miss Ziva, some of my Eye-talian countrymen have been shanghaied, and I was determined to put a stop to it."

"All by yourself."

"Yes, sir. When I put my mind to something, I do it. And since I don't know how you all work, I figured it would be easiest if you all were out of the way while I went after Kort."

Gibbs smiled briefly. "And you were going to go after Kort with a toy gun?"

"I'm not afraid of him."

"You should be. Captain, if Kort is on this ship now, where would he likely be?"

The captain thought. "I've been a little suspicious of my first mate for awhile. He's run up gambling debts and has seemed nervous."

"If the first mate needs money, he could earn it by taking on shanghaied men, to be sold in some port or plied into service on a Navy ship," Mallard said.

"And Kort would get a good percentage of the sale. Maybe 50 per cent," said Gibbs. "That's your money trail, Doc."

"It is time to pay a visit to your first mate, then, Captain," said Miss Ziva. "Your ship leaves port soon, yes?"

* * *

"What's the meaning of this, Mr. Hawley?" said the captain as he burst into the first mate's quarters. There the mate was being handed a wad of dollars by Trent Kort. "Confess, son. It'll go easier on you."

The nervous young officer trembled. "I—had no other way, Captain. I owed money, and…"

"You're not getting in our way, Captain," Kort snarled, drawing a gun. "I have two people in the hold for shanghaiing purposes. I can always add you to them."

Gibbs stepped around the corner, into the small stateroom, his gun likewise drawn. "Nope. It ends here, Kort."

"Dear me," Kort chuckled. "How did you get out of your hole, Sergeant? And is your baby-faced assistant with you? He must be. Come out, McGee."

McGee stepped into the room, despite Gibbs' glare. McGee was not armed. "You're a skunk, Kort. Your days are numbered. Give up now."

"Bravado. How charming. And utterly pointless. Why should I bother shanghaiing you two, when killing you would give me greater pleasure? Aside from the money, that is. The only question is, which one of you should I shoot first?" His pointed gun swung from one to the other. "Gibbs? We go back a long way. I'm eager to watch you die. On the other hand, having you see me gun down your man here…that would be a tender moment," he laughed cruelly.

_"NO!"_ Like a cannonball, DiNozzo burst in, tackling Kort and bowling him over.

Quickly Gibbs, McGee and Miss Ziva had Kort disarmed and handcuffed. "This time, you're going to prison for a long, long time," Gibbs snarled.

"I'll see you in hell, Gibbs," Kort snapped.

"I don't plan on stopping over there, but thanks for the offer," said Gibbs, straightening up. "DiNozzo; I told you to stay back! You could have been killed!"

"Shucks, Sergeant; I couldn't stand by and let him shoot you!"

Gibbs eyed him. "You have so little confidence in me? I was a Marine sniper. I'd say the odds were in my favor. Not that McGee, here, shouldn't have stayed out of the way. He still has a bit of a reckless streak in him," Gibbs sighed.

"But…you only had my toy gun…"DiNozzo looked again. Gibbs held an obviously genuine pistol.

"Loan of Miss Ziva," Gibbs said. "Captain, we'll take this scoundrel off your hands. And your first mate, too." He nodded as Miss Ziva handcuffed the other man.

"I didn't do much!" the first mate protested.

"That's up to the JAG to decide," said Gibbs.

"This isn't over, Gibbs," Kort said menacingly.

"Ah, thank you for being melodramatic, Kort," Mallard remarked. "One truly has arrived when one has an archenemy."

* * *

Gibbs and his team, Doc Mallard, and DiNozzo gathered for a late lunch at a nearby hotel dining room. "The telegrams disavow any connection with Kort by any of the agencies," Gibbs said, waving the stack he'd picked up on the way in.

"Do you believe 'em, boss?" asked McGee.

"Most of them," said Gibbs. "But I don't know _which_. Still, I think we've at least put a dent in the shanghai ring."

"That was a good thing you did back there on the ship, DiNozzo," McGee said.

"Yes, it was," said Miss Ziva.

DiNozzo blushed a little but didn't say anything.

"You don't need to say anything," said Gibbs. "Your deeds count more than your words do. Mind, your plan of taking Kort on all by yourself with a toy gun was a little much, but your heart was in the right place."

"What brings you out here, really?" McGee pressed on. "Seems like a smart fellow like you could find work almost anywhere."

"Maybe," said DiNozzo. "If I wasn't an Eye-talian. No one'll hire us. Except for the most menial jobs no one else wants. Look; I was just two when my family came over. I don't even remember the old country. And I'm an American now. But still, when people hear my name, the job offers dry up. I was hoping it might be different here in the West. But you wouldn't know anything about that."

McGee half rose. "I _wouldn't_? DiNozzo, I'm _Irish_! Well, my parents are. They came to America as teenagers, during the great potato famine. I was born here, but to employers, I'm still 'Irish'. You see the signs everywhere back East: _No Irish need apply._ I've had a very good education, but when it came to getting a teaching job at a college or university, it was the same thing: _No Irish need apply._ So yes, I do understand." He sat back down, looking stressed. "I could have stayed on my folks' farm, but I wanted to be more. That's why I came West."

Gibbs looked upon him kindly. "And you were just as skittish as DiNozzo, here, when we met, Tim. I remember you being surprised that I'd hire an Irishman."

There was silence for a moment, and then DiNozzo said, "Sorry…Tim."

McGee forced a small smile. "S'okay…Anthony."

"'Tony.'"

"Tony."

"Do you have such small prejudices in the Near East, Miss Ziva?" Mallard asked.

"Oh, yes. They can be found everywhere that I have travelled to." She paused, looking thoughtful. "Why is it that you say my home area is the _Near East,_ when here in San Francisco, China and the _Far East_ are so much nearer?"

"Ow, Miss Ziva," McGee groaned, his head in his hands.

But DiNozzo looked at her kindly. "It's a matter of perspective, Miss Ziva. If you say it while on the East Coast, the Near East _is_ nearer. Here you might as well call them the _Near West_ and the _Far West._"

She considered. "I like that," she said finally. "I may use that." She smiled at him.

McGee mouthed _Thank you!_ to DiNozzo, suddenly appreciating the man even more.

"Still looking for work, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked. At the man's slight nod, he continued. "I've got authority to hire another person for my team. You interested in joining the ONI?"

DiNozzo looked excited. "Well…well, sure, Sergeant! If you'll have me. But you should know that I don't know how to ride a horse or fire a gun."

"You can learn. Everyone starts somewhere. Welcome to the team."

They all shook DiNozzo's hand. His grin looked likely to split his face.

"We'll teach you all you need to know, Probie," said McGee, smiling.

"Wha—what did you call me?"

"'Probie.' It's short for 'probationer.'"

"So, I guess that's my nickname, then?" DiNozzo was clearly not pleased, but resigned.

"Aw…I guess not. I was never much one for tolerating nicknames," McGee relented. "They're silly. Welcome to the team, DiNozzo."

-END-


End file.
